


The Relativity of Home

by jestbee



Series: Fic Every Day in June 2018 [4]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Friends to Lovers, Homelessness, M/M, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14856228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestbee/pseuds/jestbee
Summary: Dan Howell is sleeping on the streets until he finds a squat run by the selfless Phil Lester. The people there are just looking for a better way to live, and they accept Dan with open arms, but there's more to Dan's story than it seems.





	1. Chapter One

Dan is aware of a faint noise somewhere around his left ear. It jangles musically, but jarring, and he's ripped from a sleep he was only barely managing in the first place. 

"Hey! Boy!" 

It's a croaky voice on the same side, followed by a hand shaking his shoulder so that his whole body rolls inside his sleeping bag. 

"Ugh." 

He's not coherent. Four nights on cold floor shivering against an approaching winter will do that. He hadn't slept the first three nights, his eyes refused to fall and shut out the heavy nightlife on every side. But last night he'd walked the entire length of the city, and down by the river he'd managed to find a nook near a bridge where he was out of sight.

Sleep hadn't come easy still, but his raw eyelids and jittery nerves had quieted for a couple of hours at least. 

Now, pink light shifts on the horizon, creeping across a grey sky, and there is someone shaking him back into consciousness. 

"Come on man, them pigs be here soon." 

He blinks his eyes, pain shooting behind them. Lack of sleep, aching bones, he feels like he's been ripped apart and stuck back together all wrong. 

"Sorry," Dan says, scrambling to his feet.

His sleeping bag gets caught around his ankles, dark blue material rustling as he tries to yank it free. Once it is, he shoves it in to the space at the top of the backpack he'd been using as a pillow while the woman surveys him quietly. 

She's shrunk back now, leaning on the mossy wall without care for how it leaves slimy streaks on her clothing. She's lounging backwards, lighting a hand-rolled joint with shaking hands. The hot-sweet smell of the smoke drifts over and makes his stomach roll. He hasn't eaten in about twenty four hours. 

"You new to this, huh?" 

Dan bats at some dust on the front of his jumper, a useless gesture given the amount that's gathered there. He is grubby and tired and he hurts all over. 

"Yeah." 

She smiles. Most of her teeth are missing and the ones that are still there are brown and lopsided. 

"Come with me little boy." She crooks a thin finger and moves off under the bridge. 

He follows, hitching his bag up. He's surprised at her speed, picking nimbly through the uneven ground at their feet. 

"What's your name?" she asks him. 

"Dan." 

She turns her head and looks up at him. He's too tall for cramped spaces, he's realising, she is small and compact, bulked out only by a dark green anorak with too many pockets. Most of them bulge outward, stuffed with unidentifiable things, she doesn't carry a bag. 

She takes another drag on her joint and blows the smoke upwards towards his face. 

"You got to move before the light comes, Dan," she says, her voice accented in a way Dan doesn't recognise. "Or the police come down and move you along and they ain't as nice as me about it." 

Dan nods, hiding a blush on his face by looking out across the river as they emerge on the other side of the bridge. 

"Sorry," Dan says again. 

"No worries little boy, no worries. Ain't me you gotta be sorry to." 

She laughs, hoarse and crackling, smoke spilling out around her sparse teeth. Something is funny, but Dan doesn't really know what. 

"I don't really know where to go," he admits. 

She looks at him again, moving her eyes to the side and giving him a once over. She takes in his messy hair, dusty black clothes, and the backpack pulled tight on his shoulders. He doesn't know what conclusions she has come to but she smiles again and nods, mostly to herself. 

"Alright little boy, you come with Nell, she'll show you." 

She teeters off again. Under her coat her feet are shoved into a pair of trainers Dan thinks were probably white once. They're those cheap kind with a generic name, they look to be a size too big but she has thick grey socks pulled up over baggy black trousers, the cuffs shoved into them. 

Her hair is matted black streaked with small strands of grey, held back possibly by a hidden band or perhaps just by its own grease. 

"T-thanks," Dan stammers. 

They walk in mostly silence through the cold early light. Dan follows, silent and hesitant behind her. Occasionally she tips her head in to a bin or a doorway but otherwise she walks through the waking city quickly. She keeps close to the buildings, tucked in out of people's way even though the streets are still mostly deserted. She shrinks herself down, taking up as little space as possible so that those she passes can choose not to see her if they want to. Dan wonders how long it will take him to learn the same thing, and how many times he too has passed someone much the same and chosen not to look. 

They walk into the city centre and then out of it again, down a street with boarded up shops with abandoned flats above them. More and more streets look like this now, small businesses shut down in favour of big high street chains selling the same thing only two miles in the other direction. 

Windows are either cracked, covered in wood and cardboard, or painted over. Shutters are pulled down with rusty locks and red brick buildings feature graffiti slogans in a variety of colours. Not art, Dan notes, just young rebellion carved out in splattered paint and curse words. 

They stop outside an old pub. The name of it is faded but Dan can see where the black lettering in the corner boasts 'live music'. The building is silent and still, paint flaking on the black door to reveal red beneath, like a glimpse into some history long forgotten. There is an old iron lamp above his head, jutting out from the building on a twisted support, the entire shape of it knocked sideways, bulb shattered. 

"This is it," Nell says. 

She raises a thin hand and knocks loudly on the door. The sound seems out of place in the quiet street and Dan looks over his shoulder out of habit, but there is no one around they could disturb. 

"What--" Dan starts, but there is a metallic jangle from behind the door and it is pulled open roughly. 

A guy who appears a few years older than Dan pokes his head out of a small gap he's created, dreadlocked hair pulled up on top of his head into a swirled bun, tied into itself to stay there. His has a patchy, thin beard covering his chin and he looks about as dirty and bedraggled as Dan feels. 

"Yeah?" 

"I got this boy here needs a place to stay," Nell says. "He's clean." 

She seems to re-think herself slightly, twitchy brows frowning for a split second before turning to look at dan.

"You clean, right?" 

Dan opens his mouth, jaw working to come up with an answer for whatever it is she means. 

"I--" 

"She means do you do drugs," the man at the door says, looking him up and down. "We don't have any of that shit here." 

"Oh," Dan says, "No I... no drugs." 

The guy nods once, curtly. 

"We ain't got room," he says, mostly to Nell but looking over at Dan every so often. 

"Now I know that's some bullshit," Nell replies, "You all rattling around in that big building. You got space for this long noodle here." 

He shakes his head and Dan hears him drum his hand on the door from the other side. 

"He's new, man," Nell continues. "Caught him trying to sleep past the sun coming up. You those new-age charity lot, you got to help him." 

"I told you," he says again, "We haven't got room." 

He turns his head then to look at Dan full-on. 

"Sorry man." 

Dan is in the process of telling him that it's fine, that it hadn't been his idea to come here, and that he isn't exactly sure where here really is anyway, when the guy turns his dreadlocked head at a noise behind him.

"What?" 

He ducks back in, the doorway momentarily empty. Dan looks at Nell who has shoved her hands in her pockets and is rocking on the balls of her feet, carefree as you like. 

The guy at the door is replaced by another, a little cleaner than the previous one but no less drawn behind the eyes, like he's seen things Dan wouldn't even be able to imagine. He's also young, Dan is surprised to find. He has a shock of black hair with light red roots and the most piercing blue eyes Dan has ever seen. 

"Nell!" he says, fondly. "Who have you brought to see us?" 

Nell smiles with her nearly empty mouth. Her face lights up at the sight of this new person and she lets out a little giggle Dan wouldn't think possible from her.

"This is Dan," she says, gesturing to him. "Caught him sleeping somewhere he oughtn't. He's like a little baby, brand new out here, thought he needed someone to take him under their wing. And I thought to myself 'Nell, what you gunna do with this boy?' and I knew I gotta bring him to you." 

"Well that's all well and good," the man replies, "and nice, Nell, that you wanted to help. But we haven't got tons of room, we can't just take in anyone." 

"He's a good boy," Nell promises, like she knows Dan well enough to vouch for him. "He won't cause no trouble" 

He turns to look as Dan, then. He has some thick rimmed glasses on his nose and the lenses reflect the early morning as he turns his head before giving way to those blue, blue eyes. He seems kind, his mouth always close to a smile even when he isn't actually smiling. 

"Are you going to be any trouble, Dan?" 

Dan shakes his head. He's completely unsure what it is he's even trying to achieve here since Nell hasn't exactly explained any of it, but he finds he does want to assure this man that no, he isn't going to be any trouble at all. 

He thinks for a moment, his lips pursed. He shifts his eyes back over to Nell and nods a little. 

"Alright," he says, "But only cus it's you, Nell. No bringing me every stray you pick up now though, you hear?" 

"I don't go picking up strays," Nell insists, already shuffling off a little. "Just this little boy here." 

She pats his arm as she moves past and the guy at the door opens it a little wider. 

Dan watches Nell teeter off down the street. 

"Oh, um, bye!" he calls after her, but she doesn't even seem to register. 

"You coming or what?" the guy asks behind him. 

Dan grips the strap of his bag at his shoulder and takes a breath. He has no idea what is on the other side of this door, or how the hell he ended up here, but it sure beats the cold concrete of an underpass or whatever doorway he might manage to find. 

He attempts a smile and follows the guy inside.


	2. Chapter Two

He's surprised to find himself in a room that looks remarkably like a pub, still. The old stools and tables are still in presence but they are mostly loaded up with what appears to be tools and papers and any number of random things. He can't really take it all in. 

The benches have cushions with stuffing coming out and the actual bar at the other end of the room is no longer as shiny as Dan imagines it was in its heyday, but it's still sturdy enough. There are gaps where the pumps would have been and a cloudy mirror behind it that might have had optics stacked in front of it. 

"It's something, huh?" the guys says at his side. 

"You could say that," Dan says. "What the hell is it?" 

The man chuckles warmly and gestures for Dan to follow him through the room, winding around tables. He pushes a swing door open to the side of the bar and steps through it. On the other side is a staircase leading upwards, a doorway with no door and steps leading downwards, and another swing door to his left. 

His guide continues through the other door and Dan follows silently. 

"It used to be the Dog and Duck once," he says, "but we just call it The Dog. We don't actually have any dogs here though. I don't think it'd be fair to them really, do you?" 

They're stood in a kitchen now. At least, Dan thinks it is. None of the old fittings remain save a large sink in one corner, there is a flimsy fold-out table in the centre piled high with mismatched crockery and the occasional tin can with ripped labels, but not much else. 

Above them, washing lines are strung from nails, one wall to the other, and clothes droop down, swaying slightly from a breeze coming in through a cracked window. 

Dan shakes his head to the question, marvelling at how quirky he seems be amidst all these dreary surroundings. He's like a pop of colour, from his faded red t-shirt to his bright blue eyes and dazzling smile.

"Take a seat." 

The guy drags a chair out from next to the table. It's a blue plastic thing with one leg slightly bent but it takes Dan's weight as he drops his bag and sits down. The stranger sits on another chair across from him and moves a stack of newspapers out of the way in front of him. 

Dan grips his backpack on the floor between his legs and tries not to look as scared as he feels. 

"I'm Phil," the guy says. 

"Dan," Dan replies automatically, before realising that Phil already knew that. 

Phil just smiles warmly and nods a little bit. 

"Sorry," Dan says, tightening his grip on the bag a little, "I don't really... I'm not sure why I'm here to be honest. Nell didn't..." 

Phil laughs and leans back in his chair, slotting his fingers together on his stomach and stretching his long legs out along pale orange lino. "No, she wouldn't. She's a bit of a character that Nell." 

"She is." 

"There are about ten of us," Phil explains, "we all live here, we all pitch in to keep it running."

"Right." 

"It's nothing glamorous, but it beats the street," Phil continues. "We're not a charity, just a group of like minded people, but there are rules you'll have to follow to stay here." 

"What... what kind of rules?" Dan asks, his mind spinning wildly into places dark and twisted. 

God knows what these strangers could demand of him in exchange for lodging. He's heard about these things, sex trafficking rings, forced prostitution. It suddenly dawns on him that he could have walked willingly into any number of dangerous situations and all because he was a bit cold and sleep deprived. It hadn't taken any time at all to end up somewhere bad, much less time than he'd have thought. 

"Oh," Phil says, sitting up suddenly, a wide-eyed look on his face. He waves an open palm frantically in front of him. "No. No. Nothing like... I just meant that we don't tolerate illegal behaviour. No drugs, no weapons, no violence. We each have chores and help each other out, you know?"

"Oh, okay." Dan says, settling back into the chair. 

"Anyone causing a disruption or anything like that gets kicked out." Phil warns, "Everyone here is just trying to live, Dan. As best we can. Is that something you can commit to?" 

"I'm just trying to live too," Dan says, "As best I can." 

Phil sends him a small smile, and a nod, and Dan thinks they've probably come to some kind of agreement between then. 

"Alright, well, I imagine you're pretty tired if Nell woke you up before dawn." 

"Yeah," Dan admits, his eyes still dry and pained. He is tired, right down to his bones. He feels a little spacey really, which is probably why he's walked in to all of this without giving too much thought to all the consequences. He'd probably think it was much weirder than he already does if he was actually awake. "I'm fucking knackered." 

"How long?" Phil asks. "How long have you been out there?"

"Only four days," Dan shrugs. 

Phil tips his head a little bit. There isn't pity in his eyes but there is understanding "I remember the first few nights." 

Dan wants to cry then. He doesn't know why. It all feels too big all of a sudden, like he won't be able to handle this after all and he should just turn around and go home, face the consequences. 

"It gets better," Phil says, laying a hand on top of Dan's where he is still gripping his bag with white knuckles.

Dan breathes in shakily and nods at him, trying to force a look of disinterest on to his face, like all of this is just something to be shrugged away. 

"I won't ask you what you're running from," Phil says, "that isn't something you have to share if you don't want to. But well, if you ever _do_ want to talk..." 

"Who says I'm running?" Dan asks. 

"No-one," Phil says. "I'm just trying to be a friend."

Who is this guy, that after everything would offer his friendship so readily? Phil has very little, it seems, but he hands out kindness like he has it in abundance.

"Sure," Dan says. "I mean, it's not... it's pretty boring." 

"Well, like I say. I won't ask." 

Dan bites his lip a little and waits until Phil stands up to move. He still feels a little awkward, poised on the brink of something, he thinks, with what happens next hazy and undefined. He has no idea what he'll find here, let alone what comes next, but Phil seems nice enough. He isn't invasive at least, and Dan likes that. 

"Come on," Phil says, "I'll show you round a bit and you can get some sleep." 

Dan hefts his bag up once again and follows after Phil. Back through the swing door then up the stairs. Phil takes them two at a time like his feet are used to the distance. He's as tall as Dan is, which is a novelty, but thin and angular, all bones and long limbs. 

Dan still has a little weight around his middle, a reminder of home cooked dinners and creature comforts. Phil has a smudge of dirt behind his right ear, and his haircut is uneven like he's done it himself. 

"Thank you," Dan says, because it strikes him what it means that he's been brought in to a place Phil is so obviously a part of. He's an interloper here, something outside and other, and Phil had thrown the door open wide and let him stroll right in on the promise to help out. 

There is generosity where he didn't expect to find it, a kind of camaraderie. Living the best they can, Dan thinks, means relying on each other a little. 

He'd thought he'd be alone out here, but looking around he realises there might be another way to do it. 

"Bedrooms are up here," Phil says as he leads Dan up the stairs to what probably used to the be landlords flat above the pub.

The striped wallpaper is peeling on the walls and there are a few leaves scattered on the floor, probably blown in from yet another broken window. 

"We're trying to do it up a bit," Phil says. "Believe it or not this is an improvement on how it was when we got here. It'd been empty for a while before we got here." 

"How long have you been here?" Dan asks. 

"About a year. Before that we were in a warehouse by the quayside, much less habitable and not much of a step up from just bunking down outside. But we got moved on." 

Always moved on. Dan had met with disapproving eyes on those first three nights, waving hands and raised voices that told him not to be there, keep moving, take himself off somewhere else like he was a pest that needed to be expelled. He had nobody and nowhere to go, unwanted, like the world would forget about him if it only could. 

"Do you... own this place?" Dan asks, though it's unlikely. 

"Hm, no." Phil says, coming to a stop on the top landing. "Technically we're squatting, but this place was repossessed along with everything else on this stretch. This building is as forgotten as we are." 

Dan nods. "And there are ten of you?" 

"You've found your voice, haven't you?" Phil laughs, "I feel like I'm being interrogated. But yes, there are twelve of us." 

"Sorry," Dan says, scuffing his shoe on faded pink carpet, threadbare in places. "Sometimes I babble when I'm nervous." 

"It's fine," Phil says, and puts a hand on Dan's shoulder. 

His palm is cold all the way through Dan's jacket and jumper. Dan jumps. 

"Sorry," Phil says, removing his hand. "Cold hands. All the gas and electricity if disconnected, of course. Water still runs, but there isn't any hot." 

"Sure," Dan says. 

Phil sets off down the hall and Dan follows him once again. 

"Bathroom is down there," Phil gestures, "And we'll get you set up in one of the bedrooms in a bit, but you'll have to share. You can catch up on some sleep in my room for now." 

He leads Dan to a door at the very end of the hall and opens it on a small room that was probably once an office, or perhaps a large closet, Dan can't be sure. There's a camp bed pushed against one wall, covered in a duvet with a faded blue and green cover. The rest of the room is relatively tidy, if not a bit worn. There's a desk with an empty drinking glass and a notebook and what looks to be a very old, beat up, laptop. 

"It's not much," Phil says. 

"Honestly, after four nights out there this looks amazing." 

Phil nods, like he knows exactly what Dan means. 

"Sorry," Dan says. "I probably sound... I mean, four nights is barely anything, is it? Like...I shouldn't... sorry." 

"Dan," Phil says, "It's not easy for anyone. It gets easier, or you just get used to it I think. That's why we started this place. There had to be a different way." 

Dan is itching to ask more questions, to find out how long Phil had to get used to sleeping outside before the warehouse and before here. He wants to know why he's even homeless and what he means when he says there has to be a different way. But he'd said he wouldn't ask Dan what he was running from, that he didn't have to share, and he thinks he should probably do Phil the same courtesy. 

"I'll leave you to sleep," Phil says, picking up his laptop. "Just come down when you're awake and I'll introduce you to everyone." 

"Okay," Dan says, then, "I thought you said there was no electricity." 

Phil glances at the laptop in his hand. "It has some battery," he says, "And there's always Starbucks and their free wi-fi." 

Dan laughs, a bit louder and longer than he'd originally intended. Nothing is like he'd thought it would be. Homeless, he's beginning to realise, doesn't necessarily mean you don't have things like laptops and an appreciation for Starbucks and free wi-fi. There are different kinds, and here Phil is, finding a different way. 

"Sleep," Phil says. "I'll see you in a few hours." 

With that he leaves, and Dan drops down on to the camp bed, hearing it creak underneath him. The bedding is soft and not at all musty like he'd thought it would be. It's old, sure, and worn, but it feels like heaven as he toes off his shoes and climbs beneath it. 

He tugs on his backpack, resting it up against the side of the bed just in case, and digs down into the side pocket of it. He pulls out a mobile phone and presses down the power button to turn it on. It chimes a little and he pauses to make sure no-one has heard. 

When he's sure, he clicks in to the messaging app and sends off a quick text.

**Dan: might have hit on a better angle i'll need longer than a week though i'm thinking at least a fortnight i'll try to call you tomorrow to discuss it**

Once it's sent he turns the phone back off and puts it in to his bag. Today is not going how he'd thought it would at all, but at least he gets to sleep now. He closes his eyes, his head on the flat pillow, and it doesn't take him long at all to slip into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter Three

Dan wakes a few hours later and has to orientate himself. It takes him a second of staring at the artex ceiling, it's swirls and drips lit by midday sunlight streaming in from a small window, before he remembers where he is. 

He sits up. He's a lot warmer than he had been but his muscles still ache. He rolls his shoulder and listens to it pop. He shouldn't feel like this at twenty-two but he does, his body feels older and worn down after even a short time away from everything he's used to. 

He slips of out bed and back in to his shoes. He hesitates for a moment, lost in this tiny room with no idea where he's supposed to go. He cracks the door open and listens, there is a rumble of noise from down the hall, drifting up the stairs. Voices and a light banging. He casts an eye over his backpack and thinks that it'll probably be okay where it is, and pads down the hall, descending the stairs quietly. 

At the bottom, he pushes open the door to the kitchen and finds Phil sat at the table. There is woman sat next to him, peeling what looks like a potato, and the guy with the dreadlocks sat opposite. 

"I'm just saying you should have consulted us before you took in another person," dreadlocks says, "this is supposed to be communal living, not the fucking Phil show." 

Phil looks up as Dan enters, clearly flustered, his face ever so slightly red and pinched into an angry expression before his purposefully smoothes it out. 

"Dan," he says. "Hello." 

Dan raises his hand in a little wave from the doorway, the door swinging shut behind him and catching him on the backside. He steps in to the room. 

"Come sit," Phil says. 

Dan crosses the room and takes the seat next to Phil. Dreadlocks is giving him a kind of angry stare and the girl just carries on peeling potatoes and smiling over at him. 

"This is Tash," Phil says. 

"Hello," she says, waving with the potato peeler. Her voice is soft and lovely, French if Dan had to guess. She has hair cropped short to her head with feathery strands falling on to her forehead. It's a kind of bleached out grey-blonde with dark black roots. She has a ring through her right nostril and cheekbones that could cut glass.

Dan likes her immediately and can't help but grin.

"And this is Issac." 

Dan turns his grin towards Isaac but it met with stone faced indifference. Even the anger has faded from his face, replaced with utter stoicism as he regards Dan. 

"Hi," Dan offers. 

Isaac scrapes his chair backwards away from the table and stands. 

"I have to get back to helping Nickolai the cellar," he says by way of excuse, and stomps out of the room. 

"Isaac is such a grump," Tash says from across the table, finishing the last potato and putting down the peeler. "I don't know what to do with him." 

Phil chuckles, a warm rolling sound in his throat. 

"Don't worry about him," he says to Tash, but also catching Dan's eye. "He's just angry at everything."

"So Dan," Tash says, changing the topic entirely, "where have you come from?" 

Dan blinks a little, before recalling what it is he'd planned to tell people.

"I'm from Reading originally," he says, because it's easier to stay close to the truth. "I came here for uni but... things got complicated." 

Vague is good, he's decided. Vague means he can give his version of events, share only what he wants to without people pressing too deeply into his past. It seems to satisfy Tash anyway. 

"You should meet Kelly," is all she says. "She is a student too." 

"Oh, I'm not--" Dan starts, but stops himself before he reveals too much.

"Kelly also lives here," Phil explains, "But she's probably out at class right now." 

"Oh," Dan says, cursing himself for how obviously surprised he sounds.

"You have to be financially independent for two years for Student Finance to use your income for assessment," Phil says, answering a question Dan hadn't asked. "They assessed Kelly based on her parents income but... it wasn't a situation she could stay in." 

Dan just nods. 

"It's not my story to tell," Phil continues, "so I won't give you details. But... you'll find all sorts of people end up here, Dan. Whatever your story, it's okay." 

"I... okay." 

He should probably ask something else, but he can't bring himself to. 

"The potatoes are done," Tash says. "I think I may go and have a lay down." 

"Are you okay?" Phil says as she stands. 

"I am fine," Tash says, pulling out a walking stick from next to her and leaning on it as she stands. "I have just done a bit much I think, a little nap will help." 

Dan stands quickly, being closest to the door, and holds it open for Tash as she moves past. 

"Thank you Daniel," she says, his full name sounds lovely and lilted in her accent. He likes it. 

Once Tash is gone, he and Phil are alone. 

"It's a bit of a mad house," Phil says. "But we get by." 

He drags over the bowl of potatoes Tash had been peeling and sets them aside. There is a bag of peelings that he gathers up and moves to put them in a plastic bucket near the back door. 

"Compost," he explains, "Isaac has a garden out back." 

"Nice." 

"It will be," Phil says, "but the cellar is flooded right now so he's busy trying to sort that out." 

"Sounds like you've got your hands full." 

"We do," Phil nods, "But we all pitch in. Everyone who works will be back in a few hours and we all tend to eat together so I'll introduce you to the rest of them then." 

Dan must look surprised again, though he doesn't mean to. 

"You have to stop doing that," Phil says, "You're beginning to look a little judgmental." 

"Sorry," Dan says quickly, "I didn't... I mean, you said people were working. And I thought..." 

"You thought that people become homeless when they don't have a job," Phil says, "Or because they're drug addicts and degenerates who don't contribute to society. You thought you were the only one who wound up homeless for a legitimate reason, the only one on the planet who wasn't a complete waste of space." 

"No, no. It's not... please Phil, I'm not saying that. I just... look, this is all new to me, yeah? I don't know what's going on half the time and I'm just learning, alright." 

Phil's face softens. He shifts from one foot to another, hands shoved in the pockets of his faded black jeans. "Sorry," he says, "For... Just, sorry." 

Dan just shrugs, and lets the subject drop. Phil is partway right, because Dan had thought things would be different, he hadn't known what to expect though. Definitely not all the things Phil had said, but he's trying to be open to all of the different situations here.

"So what can I do to help?" Dan asks. 

"Any good with plumbing?" Phil asks. 

"I don't think I have ever done a plumb," Dan jokes, "but I could give it a go." 

Phil laughs warmly, "Nah, I think Nikolai and Isaac have got it. We could go get something to go with these potatoes." 

Dan nods, "Alright. Just let me get my coat." 

He bounds back up the stairs, heading quickly to the room where his bag is. At the top of the stairs he sees someone dart across the landing, a swathe of long dark hair exploding out behind them in a riot of curls. She's quick, but she glances behind herself as she disappears into a room and dan catches sight of a pale face, mascara spread across one cheekbone. Her eyes a little sunken, and she'd probably have scared the shit out of him if she didn't look so scared herself. 

"Hey," Dan calls after her, but the door slams shut. 

In Phil's room he takes the opportunity to check his phone and finds a message waiting for him. 

**Gavin: Lets meet for lunch instead of a call I'm keen to catch up. 1pm at The Hive. G.**

That's inconvenient to say the least, and not only because it's on the other side of town, but it can't be helped. 

**Dan: ok see you then**

He turns the phone back off and puts it back in to his bag before grabbing his coat. He makes his way back down the stairs with no sign of the mysterious girl, and joins Phil at the bottom. 

"I saw someone up there," he says. 

"Dark hair?" Phil asks, "Curls?" 

Dan nods. 

"That's Niamh. She's… well she's having a bad day today. I'm sure she'll be much more sociable tomorrow, Maybe later." 

"Is she okay?" Dan recalls the streaked make up and the way she looked like she'd been crying for days. He'd recognised the haunted look in her eyes, like the world was suddenly grayscale and there was no way to turn the saturation back up.

"She will be," Phil says. "At least, I hope so. It's hard to get help, you know?" 

It would be hard, out here, without access to his therapist and his meds and his entire support structure. He wonders how Niamh does it. 

"At least she has you guys," Dan says, getting the picture. "Sometimes that's… that's what you need."

Phil has this look of understanding, more so than Dan would like. It probably means that he's taken Dan's recognition of Niamh's depression to mean that it has something to do with why he is here. It isn't, but it is as good an excuse as any, Dan supposes. 

"Come on," Phil says, "Lets go get dinner."


	4. Chapter Four

Right away Dan suspects that their trip to the shop is just an excuse to leave the house. 

Phil relaxes as soon as they are outside. It's a little cold still despite the sun finally being high in the sky, and Phil pulls his coat tighter around himself. It's one of those quilted things in a metallic dark grey. Like gunmetal. It makes him look much bigger than he is when he puts his hands in his pockets, like he has bulky arms instead of what Dan knows are thin and inoffensive. 

"You must have to do a lot," Dan says as they walk, "To look after everyone the way you do. You're kind of... the leader?" 

Phil shakes his head. "No one is the leader, we all take care of each other." 

"Oh, okay." 

There's a moment of silence while Dan tries to think of something else to say. He keeps doing this all wrong, saying the wrong thing. He's afraid Phil thinks that he's a complete idiot, or perhaps that he's a snob, maybe both. 

"I just... try to keep the peace." Phil says, "And... I guess I'm the one people come to if they've... I didn't used to be. But I kind of inherited it after my brother moved away. This was his thing, really. The warehouse and that." 

"Your brother?" 

"Yeah, he was the one that found the warehouse, and then when we thought we might get kicked out he found The Dog. But he... there was an altercation when we got moved on."

"Was he hurt?" Dan says quietly, whispering it in to the space between them, in between steps like the question needs room of its own.

"Nothing like that," Phil says, "He just, took a swing at the wrong person and now he's serving time at Her Majesty's pleasure." 

"Ooh," Dan hums, "Sorry." 

"He did it for us," Phil says. "Well, for Tash. The officer was... and Tash isn't very steady on her feet at the best of times. Martyn... that's my brother... he lost it." 

"He sounds like a good person." 

"He is," Phil nods, "I miss him." 

"Don't you visit?"

"He's incarcerated up north," Phil says, "Nearer to where… we come from. And he'd kill me for spending money on a train to see him when there is so much we need to do here." 

Phil fiddles with the zip on his coat, clearing his throat loudly. 

"Sorry," he says, "You don't need to listen to be rattle on about my life." 

"No, it's fine." Dan says.

"I don't even know why I... I don't usually talk this much I swear." 

"Lucky me, then." 

Dan gives him the warmest smile he can muster. Phil is definitely intriguing. He genuinely cares about everyone, but he has a weight on his shoulders he shouldn't have. He's barely older than Dan. 

"Is he older, your brother?" 

"Hm? Yeah. He took care of all of us."

"I'm an older brother," Dan says out of nowhere. He hadn't meant to share anything at all but it had slipped out. 

Phil is quiet for a moment. "I... I don't know your story Dan. And I still won't ask. But... if you left your brother somewhere bad, it's not your fault." 

Dan closes his eyes. "It's nothing like that," he says. 

"Okay well, I just wanted to say." 

"Thanks," Dan says. "But really. It's not that." 

They arrive at a small Tesco, one of the small ones that don't stock everything but are located near city centres. Phil leads them in and Dan is suddenly aware of how they stick out, how the security guard follows them with his eyes. He glances down at Phil's outfit and his own clothes, the ones he's been wearing for four days straight. 

He tries to swing his arms wide, evidence for the guard and for the CCTV camera above their heads that he isn't carrying anything he shouldn't be, isn't reaching out to shove anything into his coat. 

They drift to the chilled section and Phil picks up a package of sausages. 

"Bangers and mash, I think." Phil says. 

"Sounds good."

"And..." he spins on his heel, walking to the upright freezer opposite. He opens it and retrieves an orange box. "Vegetarian." 

"Are you?" Dan asks. 

Phil shakes his head. "Harlene, Tash, and Isaac." 

The thought occurs to Dan that he might not have the resolve it would take to maintain those morals in this situation. If he were a vegetarian and someone offered him meat for free, he'd probably eat it. His stomach rumbles now as he remembers how long it has been since his last meal. 

"Snacks," Phil says. 

"Huh?" 

"We should get snacks."

Phil leads him down the snack aisle and picks up a small packet of marshmallows. 

"Go on," he says, "pick something." 

Dan surveys the options and decides that he is far too hungry to care, he grabs some crisps in his favourite flavour and holds them in his hand like they're precious.

He has a bit of money with him, just a bit. He'd made sure he had a certain amount of cash when he'd left home. He does have his bank card too, tucked away in the bottom of his backpack, but that's for emergencies. Not for now. 

Suddenly a single packet of crisps seems overindulgent. 

When they get to the register Phil takes the crisps from Dan's hands gently. 

"Let me."

"No," Dan says, trying to take the package back out of Phil's hands. "I can--" 

"Dan," Phil says, "Please. It's fine, it's just a packet of crisps." 

Dan lets it go, a sick guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach. It is just crisps, but he can't help but think about what that single purchase might mean for Phil, what percentage of the money currently in his possession is that taking up?

They don't get a carrier bag because the extra five pence seems frivolous for something that will just hang around, and besides, those things take thousands of years to biodegrade. Or at least that's what Phil tells him on the way out, hands full of their purchases. Except the marshmallows, those he slides into his pocket out of sight.

Phil hands the packet to Dan as soon as they are out of the shop. Dan glances at the security guard who isn't really paying attention to them at all and wonders if it's all in his head. Maybe he is a snob, maybe he does have all these notions in his head about what they look like that aren't really true at all. 

He rips open the packet, ravenous, and shoves a handful of crisps in to his mouth with gusto. 

"Slow down," Phil chuckles, "You'll choke." 

"Sorry," Dan says, spraying crumbs down his top a little. "I haven't eaten since… yesterday? Day before last? I don't remember." 

"You know," Phil says as they make their way back up the street, "Now that you're staying with us you could sign on. Use the address. It's what most of us do." 

And suddenly something clicks into place about how all of this work. He could do that, if it were necessary, he has a residential address now he can give the job centre and they can give him job seekers and he'd have a little bit to get by on. That's how they do it.It's a better way. 

"Does that mean I can stay for a bit?" Dan asks. He doesn't know why he asks because he'd said two more weeks, hadn't he? It hadn't supposed to be even that long but he's found something here, something different, and he kind of wants to check it out.

Phil looks confused for a second. He jostles the sausages in his hands and turns his head to meet Dan's eyes. "Did you think we wouldn't let you stay?" 

Dan shrugs. "I don't know. Like, I just kind of turned up unannounced and you don't really have room for me. Isaac doesn't seem to…" 

"Let me deal with Isaac," Phil says. "He has ideas… about all of this. About what it should be. It's admirable, it really is, and if we had Martyn here we might be able to make that work. But it's just me. Isaac will have to deal with that or he'll have to leave." 

Dan wants to say something, he really does, but he can't think of anything that would express his gratitude, or his respect, or his solidarity in the face of whatever it is Phil is facing up to. He turns back to his crisps and takes another bite so he has an excuse not to.

"Sorry," Phil says again. "There I go again, rambling. I said I'd try to stop that." 

Dan stops, reaching out for Phil's arm to make him stop too. "You said that if I ever need to talk you'd listen, right?" 

Phil nods. 

"Then me too, I mean, same. If you ever need to talk. I'm listening, Phil." 

Phil looks a little bewildered, like no one has said that to him before. Could it be that he spends all of his time picking up the pieces for everyone else that no one has really stopped to be there for him? Dan suspects he's reading far too much into a little gratitude, because he doesn't really know Phil at all, but something about this, about finding someone so sweet amidst all this hardship, it makes him want to reach out.

"I know we don't know each other," Dan says, "But we can be friends. If you want. I don't know how good I'll be at it but… it sort of seems like you might need one." 

Phil nearly drops the boxes of food as he leans over, wrapping his arms around Dan and drawing him into an awkward hug. 

"Thanks," he says, close to Dan's ear. "I needed that today." 

"Anytime," Dan says.


	5. Chapter Five

There is someone in the kitchen when they get back, and Phil puts the sausages down on the counter. There's a man much older than the other people Dan has seen, washing his hands in the sink. 

"Nikolai," Phil says, greeting him with a smile and a small pat on the back. "How's the cellar?" 

"Cellar is wet," Nikolai replies.

He has a shock of grey hair in wild messy strands that seem to face all directions at once. He has the appearance slightly reminiscent of the stereotypical hollywood mad scientist. Except that he's wearing what look like fishing waders, the straps hooked up on his muscular shoulders. 

"No luck fixing it?" Phil asks. 

"I have located the… block." Nikolai says, "I just need to, um, unblock. Should be done by end of the week." 

He smiles widely with a crazy kind of laugh and wipes his hands on his t-shirt leaving a wet stain behind. 

"Good man," Phil says, "I knew you'd do it." 

Dan smiles at him and Phil seems to remember he's there. 

"This is Dan," Phil says, "he's going to be staying with us." 

Nikolai nods and reaches over with a large hand to shake Dan's. Dan feels pathetically small as he greets Nikolai who is strong and capable and looks like the sort of person who can fix things. Not to mention that he's obviously much older than Dan. Than all of them, really. 

Dan wonders how on earth he came to be here. 

"Nikolai was a friend of my brother's," Phil says, once again answering a question that Dan didn't ask. "He helps out around here. He stays here most of the time but sometimes he goes to see his kids." 

Nikolai nods, "When they will have me," he says. 

It strikes Dan as odd that Nikolai has family out there that allow him to stay here. Wouldn't they take him in, if he has fallen on hard times? But then, Dan has a family too. And Phil probably has parents out there, maybe. Perhaps they all do, somewhere, people waiting for them. 

Behind him the door opens and a girl enters the kitchen in a rush. 

"Phil!" she says, a bag bumping off her hip, long dark hair pulled into a ponytail that sways from side to side. "And…" 

"Dan," Dan says. 

"He's staying." Phil supplies. 

She looks him up and down for a second, eyes narrowing. "Hm," she hums. "Okay. I'm Harlene." 

"Something wrong?" Phil asks. 

"I mean, I can see why _you_ brought him in, Philly, but next time can you make decisions that benefit us as a whole rather than thinking with your dick? Someone who can hot wire the electrics perhaps?" 

Dan lets out a short but loud laugh as Phil splutters behind him. "Harlene!" he reprimands. 

"Hey dude, I'm just saying." 

She winks over at Dan who has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing again. 

"Sorry about her," Phil says to him. "She's not fit for company." 

Harlene just sticks up her middle finger and pulls off her cardigan. There are silvery white scars littering her arms, contrasting against her tanned skin, and Dan tries not to stare too closely because no one else seems bothered. 

"Besides," Phil continues. "I've told you before you can't just 'hot wire' electrics." 

Harlene sighs, like this is the worst news. "Well, fine. Is Tash around?" 

"She went for a lie down," Phil says, "She should be in your room." 

"Toby?" 

"Not back yet," Phil says, looking over at Nikolai for confirmation. 

"No," Nikolai says, "Not yet." 

"Cool," Harlene says, "I'll have to kick his ass at chess later." 

"Not until after homework, Har. He got in trouble last time." 

Harlene rolls her eyes. "Fine." 

She shoves her cardigan in her bag and makes to leave the kitchen, one hand on the swing door. "Nice to meet you, Dan." 

"You too." 

She leaves and Dan watches her go before turning to Phil. 

"Yeah," Phil says, "she's…" 

"She is," Dan agrees before waiting to hear what he says. 

"I will be in the bar," Nikolai says, "I will see you at dinner time." 

Then Nikolai leaves too, and they are alone once again. 

"Told you," Phil says. "Madhouse." 

"Do you ever get any time alone?" Dan asks, without thinking. "I mean, they seem really great. Lovely, really. But…" 

"Yeah," Phil says, "It can be… a lot. And I'm not always the best at it but the place keeps ticking along and nothing really bad has happened yet. Well…" 

Phil gets quiet all of a sudden, a sad look passing over his eyes. 

"What?" 

"Well, nothing bad since Martyn anyway." 

Dan wants to shift forward and… do what? Hug him? Lay a comforting hand on his shoulder? He wouldn't even know where to start with that stuff. 

"Listen," Phil says, his voice suddenly serious. "About what Harlene said about…"

"Whoa. I'm, yeah don't… it was funny." He demonstrates by laughing a little. 

"I know I just… you don't have to, you know… to stay. That's not what this is about." 

Beyond his mild panic upon first arriving Dan hasn't even thought about that at all. He supposes that's what it's like though, when you have nothing, constantly wondering if someone is around just to take the last thing you have to give. And what then? 

"What is it about?" Dan asks. He really wants to know. "Why all of this? I know you said you were trying to find something better but… Why you? Why Martyn?" 

Phil sighs. "Sometimes I ask myself the same thing."

"So what's the answer?" 

"Honestly? I really don't know. If you asked Isaac he'd tell you that it's the responsibility of the people to rise up against an uncaring state. If you asked Martyn he'd say… I don't know. That he was just in the right place at the right time and he couldn't _not_ do something." 

"What about you?" Dan asks, "What would you say?" 

Phil is silent for a moment, chewing in his bottom lip and rearranging something on the table ineffectually. 

"I don't know. To carry on Martyn's work? Because I love these people specifically? I don't know. Maybe I wouldn't be a good enough person to do this if I didn't already know them." 

"You don't know me. When I turned up at your door, I was no-one," Dan says. "I was a stranger." 

"I took you in," Phil says quietly, as if reciting something long forgotten. He shakes himself before he carries on. "You… well, you came highly recommended by a crack addict so how could I say no?" 

Dan laughs, which is the correct response, but there's still something he wants to say. "You're a good person, Phil."

"You think?" 

"I know."

Phil sighs again. Dan hates it, it's nothing like his usual happy go lucky self he's become used to today. 

"You don't know me at all." 

Dan opens his mouth to protest, to say that while they've only had less that twenty four hours he knows that Phil is a good person, he can feel it, but at that moment they are interrupted by a small messy haired teenager barging in to the kitchen. 

"Toby!" Phil greets him, suddenly snapped back into his usual sunny demeanour. "Good day at school-- wait. Have you got a black eye? What happened?" 

"It's not my fault," he answers, his voice a thick Irish accent. "Some fuckers were saying things." 

"Language," Phil reprimands. 

Toby doesn't answer, he just looks over at Dan with a tense scowl. 

"This is Dan," Phil says. "He's going to be staying with us." 

Toby doesn't remove the scowl from his face and he doesn't look happy at all. In fact he simply ignores Dan entirely. 

"Is Niamh awake?" 

Phil shakes his head.

At this, Toby lets out a frustrated growl and slams his bag down on the table. 

"She never is," he says, his voice as angry as the purple bruise around his right eye. "She never does anything! How are we supposed to get out of here if she won't fucking do anything?" 

"Toby--" Phil starts. 

"No just… just fuck off." 

He's crying now, hot thick tears spilling down his face as Phil moves towards him. 

"Fuck off Phil," he says again with less conviction. "You're not my family. You don't know anything." 

"It's okay," Phil says, over and over. "It's okay." 

He wraps his arms around Toby and pulls him bodily into a hug. The kid fights it for a small moment before settling into it, clinging on to Phil as if he is a life raft in a storm. He cries. He cries for a good five minutes while Dan can do little other than watch helplessly. 

"It's okay," Phil says one final time.

Toby sniffs and pulls away. Phil lets him go carefully.

"I'm gunna go," he says. 

"The basement is flooded," Phil warns. "You'll have to go somewhere else." 

"Fine." 

The kid picks up his bag again and lets it fall from one hand, dangerously close to dragging on the floor. 

"Hey, Toby," Phil says, catching him one last time before he leaves, "You know we've got to talk about that eye, right? After dinner?" 

Toby just nods, resigned to it, and leaves the room. 

"Sorry," Phil says, "He's just… he's angry at everything. The world."

"He's Niamh's brother?" Dan asks.

"Yeah. It's been rough on him. Their parents… are gone. They moved them over here and then they just, died. Afterwards… the system failed them." 

"Is it best though? For him? It failed once but it could…"

"No," Phil says suddenly. "No he's fine here. I can look out for him. And Niamh. And all of them." 

"I know," Dan says, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean… It's not my place to…" 

"It's fine, Dan. It's fine." 

He looks tired. Dan wonders if every day is like this, strangers banging on his door, demanding housemates, flooded basements, and angry teenagers. It's a lot. He doesn't know how Phil does it. 

"Dinner," Phil decides. "Let's make dinner." 

"I can do that," Dan says. And he does.


	6. Chapter Six

There are two more people when they finally gather for dinner. They all sit around a few of the tables in the bar, the once shiny wooden tops spotty and chipped. They've been scrubbed though, so while they are old and have clearly seen better days, they are clean and the scene looks cosy as they file in one by one and gather together. 

Dan stands, kind of awkwardly, a plate in each hand while the people he hasn't met yet smile at him. He is still a little rushed and stressed out, his face flushed with the exertion that comes from cooking dinner for thirteen people using nothing but a gas powered camping stove.

"It's better in the summer," Phil says. "We can use the barbeque." 

Dan helps give everyone a plate and finally sits down to tuck in to his own.

"This is Dan," Phil offers to the two new faces. "Dan, this is Garrett and Amir." 

Garrett smiles and introduces himself. He's in his mid-thirties with bright red hair and a mouth a touch too big for his face. It sits amidst the bushiest beard Dan has ever seen.   
Garrett, it turns out, has a full time job in construction which pays pretty well. He lives here because all of his money goes to support his kids who, in his opinion, have a shit life with their alcoholic mother. When Dan dares to ask why he doesn't just file for custody Garrett gets a sad look on his face and says that he's already tried that. 

Dan gets the impression that it's a long drawn out story that he's not nearly at the end of yet.

Amir is chatty. Thin and animated, with jerky movements he looks surprised to be making. Like his body has the impetus to move before his brain has caught up to it. He doesn't seem to stop talking the entire time he's there even though he only really pops in for a little while. He, it turns out, is studying towards his A-Levels in his own time and saving up enough money to take the exams. He's come from nothing, Phil says once he's left, all he ever knew was drugs and crime and Amir pulled himself out of it by his bootstraps. He's doing well, all things considered. 

Dan asks if Martyn was the driving force of that. 

"I don't know," Phil says, "He just turned up one day with Amir in toe, skinny and scared looking. It took him a while to stop flinching every time there was a loud noise." 

It's good then, Dan surmises, to see such a change in him. He can't imagine the animated, chatty Amir as someone withdrawn and scared. Here, amidst this odd family gathered to share a meal, he has bloomed.

The rest of dinner is quiet, with only the odd patch of conversation about what people have been up to. Harlene ducks in half way through to tell everyone about her day cleaning hotel rooms and to grab a plate for her and for Tash who is going to stay in their room.

"She okay?" Phil asks. 

"Yeah," Harlene assures him, "Just tired. Lots of cuddles and an early night, I think. Hey, I'm at work early tomorrow, could you check on her after I've gone?" 

Phil nods, "Of course." 

Dan doesn't ask what's wrong with Tash, he doesn't comment on how attentive and lovely Harlene seems, or how her hard edges seem to soften whenever she mentions her name. He just smiles at Harlene who rolls her eyes and flips him off. 

She might be his favourite. 

Nikolai picks up his guitar after dinner and begins to strum something soft and slow. Dan doesn't recognise it, but as Nikolai starts to sing along in his own language, Dan thinks he probably wasn't meant to. 

Toby is still grumpy, sat on the end of the table on a three-legged stool that leans a bit to the left. He's got his eyes cast downwards, poking his fork into the gravy still swimming on his plate. 

"Toby," Phil says, standing up, "Will you help me with the plates?" 

"I've got to take Niamh's dinner up." Toby answers, like he's winning some kind of argument. 

Dan realises that doing the dishes must be Phil trying to engineer a way to talk to him about the black eye, about what happened at school. 

"I can take it up," Dan offers. 

Phil looks over, his mouth pulled up at one corner in a sly conspiratorial smile. 

"No..." Toby starts, but loses the thread of his argument when Phil cocks his head in challenge.

"Perfect," Phil says, and Toby sighs and gives up. "Second door on the left, Dan. Toby, grab those plates would you?" 

Toby immediately slumps, like he's lost, and picks up the plates noisily. He stomps through the room, banging the door as he opens it on purpose, muttering under his breath. 

"Thanks," Phil says quietly, while the guitar plays in the background and Nikolai's melodic voice fills the room. 

"No problem." 

The door upstairs echoes in the long corridor when he knocks on it. He's got the plate precariously balanced in one hand, gravy spreading perilously towards the edge. 

"Come in," a small voice calls from inside. Her accent is Irish like her brothers and it makes her sound happier than Dan suspects she is. 

Dan opens the door only a small way, poking his head into the room. 

"Um, hi," he says. 

She's laying on the bed with corduroy curtains pulled across the window. They are an unpleasant bronze colour that reminds Dan of old theatre curtains and they block out all the light to the room so that it is dark and ominous.

Her hair is fanned out over her head, one eye peeking out from underneath it, until she sees Dan and sits up quickly. 

"Who are you?" 

"I'm Dan," he says. "I… brought you dinner. I'm staying here. I mean… sorry. I'm new."

She regards him quietly for a moment. Her eyes are a brown much darker than his and they are framed with dark circles. She's tall, wearing black old bootcut jeans and a black fleece with a few stains down the front. Her mascara is still smudged against one cheekbone. 

Dan recognises this, the deep lethargy and lack of self care that comes from a depressive episode. 

"Can I get you anything else?" He says, passing the plate over. "A glass of water or something?" 

She takes the plate from him, still silent with wide, cautious eyes. She shakes her head. 

"No thank you." 

"I'm Dan," he repeats. 

"Niamh." 

"I know."

"Sorry," she says, clearing her throat and batting at her riotous curls, "I'm a mess. You must think…"

"I don't think anything."

"Well Phil must have said…" 

"He didn't need to." Dan assures her. "I get it."

She almost smiles then, her round cheek twitching as she picks up her fork and places it in the mash potato. Not eating, not yet. 

"I'll be much better tomorrow," she promises, "I'm just having a bad day."

"It's okay if you're not, you know." 

"No I will." 

Dan stays fixed to the spot as she looks at her dinner but still doesn't take a bite.

"I met Toby," he says. 

"Oh?" Dan thinks she maybe look a little brighter. "Is he… is he alright?" 

"Apparently he got into a little scuffle at school but otherwise he's okay." 

She purses her full lips and looks away. "He's angry."

"Seems that way."

"At me."

"Maybe," Dan allows. "He just doesn't understand. He's a kid." 

"He is," she whispers. 

"I'm sorry. It's not… I shouldn't be… sometimes I talk too much."

She lifts her head, meets his eyes full on for the first time. "It's okay I think maybe… well, you get it. Yeah?" 

Dan nods. 

"It's been a bit… shit. Toby just didn't really understand most of it since, well the worst of it didn't happen to him. But I had to get him out." 

Dan hums a little in agreement but otherwise doesn't know what to say.

"Just… I'll get up tomorrow, okay?" 

Dan wipes his hands on his jeans and nods again. 

"Like I said, it's okay if you don't." 

"Thanks." 

"Are you… are you staying for a while?" She asks. 

"I don't know how long I'm staying," Dan says, because that at least is somewhat close to the truth. He doesn't want to lie to her. Or to Phil, really. 

He'll find out tomorrow after his meeting with Gavin. Maybe this whole thing was a ridiculous idea, maybe he's looking at it all wrong, but he hopes not. There's something here, he thinks, something worth staying for. A better way.

He tells Niamh goodbye and doesn't wait to see if she will actually eat. Somehow he thinks that's probably her business. 

He lingers in the hallway for a little bit, hovering between going back downstairs where the gentle guitar music still plays, and going to his bag, to check up on all of that. He turns right, going back down the stairs, back to the faint chatter of the people below. It can wait, he thinks, he'll deal with it tomorrow.


	7. Chapter Seven

Dan sleeps in Phil's room again despite his arguments to the contrary. 

"The only space we have is sharing with Isaac," Phil says warily, "and... It's fine. Take my room for now." 

"What will you do?" 

"I can sleep in the bar," he says, "It's fine. We'll sort something out." 

Dan is aware he's causing a disruption. At least, he thinks, it won't be for very much longer. 

"In fact," Phil says, getting a burst of inspiration, "There's a storage room we could empty out for you. It'll need a clean and a coat of paint, but I think we have some kicking about. We could start that tomorrow." 

"Sure," Dan says, "I... um, I have to go somewhere tomorrow but... yeah. Like, when I get back?" 

If Phil is surprised, or curious, about Dan's appointment, he doesn't let on. Dan thinks he could probably do with getting better at this whole stealth thing, but it's all working out so far. 

They agree they'll start the following evening and Dan goes to bed. 

It had taken him a while to fall asleep. His disruption sleep schedule kept him up until the soft creep of light at the small window over his head. He watched the rectangle of illumination stretch across the bumpy ceiling, going over and over everything that has happened in his head and how it all fits together with why he is here. Until finally, his eyes slip shut. 

Waking up isn't as jarring this time, but the cracked ceiling and the small window still feel alien and unfamiliar. He'd given up the soft blue and green duvet in favour of his own sleeping bag which is warm enough, and it's still a damn sight better than under the bridge, but he does have the fleeting memory of his double bed back at home, the thick fluffy grey duvet and feather pillows he'd spent far too much money on. 

He sighs and pushes himself up from the camp bed, back cracking slightly as he does. 

He packs everything back into his bag, unsure what it means that he's sort of preparing in case he doesn't come back. He might anyway, he reasons, even if Gavin tells him not to pursue it, he'd come back to say goodbye, wouldn't he? 

Or maybe it's better if he slinks off into the distance. 

The Dog is quiet as he pads down the hall. His bag is heavier than he remembers and the weight of it on his bag and the general size makes him feel like he's taking up to much space, ambling along somewhere he shouldn't be.

When he's downstairs the silence is even more apparent, save a soft rustling sound coming from the bar. Dan enters it to find Phil fully dressed and folding up his brightly coloured duvet. 

"Hey," he says. 

Phil jumps a little, like he hadn't expected anyone to be coming up behind him, but his face instantly breaks in to a smile as he sees Dan. 

"Good morning, Dan." 

"You all alone?" Dan asks. 

Phil nods, "Everyone is off doing their own thing. Niamh is upstairs, Nikolai is in the basement fixing the leak. It's just me." 

"Yeah," Dan says, hitching his bag up, "I've got to..."

"No worries," Phil says. "I'll see you when you're back." 

"Are... Do you want me to... I mean, if you're alone I could..." 

"Don't be silly," Phil says, putting the folded duvet on the top of one of the tables. "To be honest, and don't tell anyone this, but I'm quite looking forward to the time alone. There are always so many people around and I care about them all, I do, but sometimes..." 

"Oh god, I get that." Dan says, a bit too forcefully, "gimme that sweet sweet solitude, right? What will you do?" 

If Phil is taken back by his particular brand of joking, he doesn't show it. If anything, he looks faintly amused.

"There is always something to be done around here," Phil says, dutifully. 

"Phil." Dan cocks his head. Phil works too damn hard, it seems. He gets it, the urge to want to do something meaningful, to follow through on responsibilities but... "If its rare time alone, don't you... like, want a bit of a break?" 

"Maybe." 

Phil's voice is quiet, hushed, like its a big secret or something to be ashamed of. For Dan, who has spent a lot of his life procrastinating or running away from the responsibilities he's had, he admires Phil's selfless dedication to this place and the people in it.

"You should," Dan says. "Just for a little bit. Do something you like."

Phil looks uncertain. 

"We're clearing out that room when I get back, right?" Dan says, "Just... like, have a break until then? I won't be long." 

He's taking a bit of a leap. There's every chance Gavin will tell him he's being ridiculous, that he needs to stop all of this nonsense right now, and then he won't be back. But he's determined, he doesn't want to go back, not yet. He's not finished. 

Besides, if the last thing he does here is tell Phil he deserves a break every once in a while perhaps it won't be the worst thing in the world. 

"Okay," Phil says, smiling in a way that means he absolutely has no intention of taking a break at all.

Dan sighs, "Phil. I mean it. What do you like to do? you know, when you're not running around here doing things." 

"I mean, I like the internet," Phil says. 

Dan swallows. 

"But I don't want to go to Starbucks right now. I need to be here incase things go wrong in the basement." 

"Okay," Dan says, clearing his throat. "What do you like to do _here_." 

"I read," Phil says, a little sheepish. 

Dan grins. "What do you read?" 

"Some non-fiction, some Stephen King, horror or whatever. Basically whatever I find in charity shops," he chuckles, "I'm not... it's not sophisticated taste. I just like being... somewhere else or some _one_ else... for a bit." 

Dan blinks. That hits home more than Phil will ever know. 

"Yeah," he says, "I get that." 

His voice is a bit deeper and more serious than he intends but there is a twisted sensation in his gut, something urging him to tell Phil exactly how much he gets it, how he spends his days pretending to be someone else all the time, how he's always running away from everything only to find he's taken his problems with him. But he can't, because revealing that would mean having to revealing everything else and that really isn't an option. 

Not yet. 

"So read," Dan says. "Promise me you'll read while I'm out. Go anywhere, go far away and have adventures, and then I'll be back and we can get on with manual labour and room clearing."

"Fine, fine," Phil says, putting his hands in his pockets. "I'll read. Promise." 

"Good boy," Dan says, laughing. "Now, I really have to go." 

There isn't a clock, he realises, and he can't simply pull out his phone and check, but seeing as how he has to get all the way across town, he should probably leave. 

"See you later," Phil says, happily. 

"See you later," Dan repeats, and he hopes that he will.


	8. Chapter Eight

The Hive isn't that busy when he gets there, thank goodness. The space between the tables is kind of narrow though so he has to squeeze through with his bag and the scratch of a chair echoes loudly across the café. A waiter looks up. 

"Can I help you?" he says. 

"Oh, no I don't need a computer, I'll just sit over here." He drops into a seat at a vacant table and props his bag up next to him. 

"Our tables are for paying customers only," the waiter says. 

Dan looks up at him first, and then down at his clothes. He'd changed his t-shirt that morning but it isn't much cleaner than everything else he has with him. He's dishevelled and dirty and under any other circumstance he wouldn't usually be out of the house looking like this. 

"I am," Dan says, "I'll have a coffee." 

There is a pause. 

"Thank you." Dan says, making a point.

The waiter looks hesitant, like he doesn't know whether he wants to allow Dan to stay, but ultimately decides that he has to. 

Dan pulls the phone out of his bag, and a charger, and plugs it in on one of the sockets in the middle of the table. The good thing about The Hive is that it's an internet cafe and where all the students come to do their homework. Internet, power and coffee. That's all they really need. 

He powers the phone up and waits while it boots. He probably has a million emails that he should check, but he can't, because that isn't part of this, it's one of the things he'd told himself he wouldn't do this week. That doesn't change just because he's decided that one week will now be two. Or three. However long it takes to find what he needs to. 

The waiter comes back with his coffee and raises an eyebrow at the phone plugged in and the lack of computer. 

"I'm waiting for someone," Dan says. 

He shouldn't have to offer an explanation, but the incessant gaze of this judgmental teenager makes him feel like he has to. 

The waiter just nods and sets the mug down on the table with a clink of ceramic. 

Dan reaches out and wraps his hands around the warmth of it. He doesn't think he's been truly warm for a while now. The Dog, at least, is inside, but there's still no central heating and he didn't really know how much he relied on it until it wasn't there anymore. 

The first night he was out he'd shivered his way through no sleep at all, his teeth chattering off each other, ringing in his head. He'd put on every shirt he'd brought with him, layer and layer, and huddled down in a sleeping bag that didn't keep him as warm as he'd thought it would. 

He had a vague notion, that first night, that all of this was for nothing. He'd thought that maybe he should just give up and go home and think of something else to do, but there was nothing he could think of, even as that cold night gave way to a misty morning, that would have as big of an impact as this would. 

Gavin comes along when he's half way through his coffee. He's got a bright yellow mac on over blue slacks and some kind of zany shirt with a bow tie. His head is shaved down both sides, the long hair on top tied into a small but messy bun. 

"Dan!" he says, with a smile that turns into a bit of a frown. "You look like you've been pulled through a bush backwards." 

Dan settles him with a look, because really. 

"Gavin," he says, nodding. 

The waiter is back, fussing around Gavin has he puts down his leather satchel that is, Dan suspects, actually vintage rather than reproduction. 

"A soy chai latte," Gavin says, "Dan?" 

"Yeah, I'll have another one." 

The waiter looks momentarily confused at the well-dressed Gavin sitting with Dan, but he does nothing more than quirk an eyebrow and move away to get their drinks. 

"So," Gavin says, coat on the back of the chair and sitting down finally, "what's this new angle?" 

"I'm fine thanks, Gav. How are you?" 

"Sorry," Gavin says, "How _are_ you? Is it just as terrible as you'd thought it would be?" 

"It's..." Dan pauses, swirling what is left of his coffee in the bottom of the mug and staring into it. "different than I thought it would be." 

"Hence the new angle," Gavin says. 

"Hmm," Dan hums. "Yes." 

There is a pause where Gavin is clearly dying to ask but doesn't know whether he can yet, whether he has given Dan enough small talk to move on to why he is really here. 

"So?" Gavin says, finally. "What is it?" 

"Well," Dan says, "There's this place, a squat for lack of another term, and it's run by this guy--" 

"That's it?" 

"huh?" 

"Well a squat, Dan. It's not exactly groundbreaking." 

"No it's different, he--" 

"Come on," Gavin says as the waiter comes back with two white mugs, musically clinking on their saucers. "Do you really need more time on this just for that? Shouldn't we be moving on to the next thing?" 

Gavin nods at the waiter and takes his drink. He sips it, still looking at Dan over the rim of the mug. 

"I need more time," Dan says, forcefully. 

"But--" 

"Gavin," Day says, sitting up a little straighter. "Need I remind you that you approached me about this, not the other way around. This is how I do things, if something means I have to change the plan then I change it. This is one of those things." 

"Alright, alright," Gavin says, splaying his hands, palms out like he's surrendering. "I get it, I get it. I know better than to tear you creative types away from your process. I just thought that with deadlines looming you might want to get a jump on that first draft we talked about, just a first chapter, Dan. They want to see something." 

"And they'll see it," Dan says. "You wanted the book to be like the blog, but you wanted it to be bigger. This is bigger, but it's going to take some time." 

"We do, we do," Gavin says, "alright. Two more weeks, that's all I'm going to be able to swing with the higher ups." 

"Done." 

That settled, Gavin sits back in his seat a little bit, sighing. 

"I don't know how you come up with this stuff," he says. "Or like, why." 

"Why?" 

"Yeah. Why do it? Why pretend to be someone different every week?" 

Dan shrugs. That is something he's asked himself for a while. Honestly he doesn't know why he does it, it certainly hadn't been something he'd planned out. He had no idea this is where it was all going to go when he moved to Manchester and all that uni stuff happened. But it had, and it had worked, and people had been interested. 

Now they wanted him to write a book about it. It was mad.

"Why not?" Is the answer he gives, because it's easier than explaining why he might not want to be himself sometimes. 

Gavin shakes his head and laughs again. "Alright, I get it. You keep your secrets." 

Dan just ignores him and sips his coffee. He's warmed up considerably, the mug hot in his hands and the coffee heating him from the inside. He thinks of going back to The Dog, he thinks of Phil's blue and green duvet and his smile, and that makes him feel warm too.

"So, this squat." Gavin says, interrupting his thoughts. "What makes it so special?" 

"It's just... it's like, a better way, you know? I like the idea." 

"Of what?" 

"Of places, abandoned places being put to good use, allowing people that could make it out to actually make it. That's what he's doing." 

"He?" 

Dan feels his face go a little warm. 

"Phil," Dan says. "He sort of... runs the squat. I mean, they all pitch in and help and whatever but Phil really runs the whole thing." 

"And he's helping these people get off the streets?" 

"They have interesting stories," Dan says. "There's no drugs, just people who have been dealt a shit hand trying to make the best of a bad situation. Phil is helping them do that." 

"You seem really interested in this Phil guy," Gavin says. 

Dan bites his lip for a moment before shaking his head. "That's where the story is. Talking about being homeless is all well and good but this, this is something different. Better." 

"You think so?" 

"I think it's the story I want to tell," Dan says. "These people, their story. I could go back out there and find some crack addicts to knock around with, criminals or something, but what good is that going to do?" 

"Good?" Gavin says, chuckling a little. "You want to do some good?" 

"Maybe," Dan says, "If I can."

"Alright Dan, whatever you say. I'll just be happy if we get a bestseller out of this, alright? Do all the good you want but make it entertaining, huh? Like the blog." 

"I started the blog to help me," Day says, "Not just to entertain myself. And then it helped other people too. Sometimes people need escapism, or to see the world from a different point of view for a while. I think people could benefit from seeing it from this one. You want the book to be like the blog, that's what it is." 

Dan isn't sure he's ever really thought of it like that before. He doesn't know why he started it, it certainly wasn't because he had any grand plans of helping anyone, least of all himself. The Manchester thing was a fluke, and he decided to write it up just to document it, he never expected people to get invested. He never expected the people in the comments telling him how they too felt like a fraud, like they were pretending their whole lives. After that, he just kept doing it, and people kept saying it, or telling him that they'd gained something from seeing things from another point of view.

He doesn't know why he's saying this to Gavin, but he realises that he means it, he wants to make a difference. If he is going to spend his one life on earth never really being himself it better be for a good reason, it better have an impact.

"Okay, Dan," Gavin says. "I'll help you do that." 

"Then it's time for me to go back."


	9. Chapter Nine

Dan has a cobweb in his hair and he thinks he's doing a valiant effort of not screaming the place down. He does exit the room though, swiping his hands through his hair over and over, trying to dislodge the last of it form where it clings to his curls. 

"Are you--" Phil seems to be trying to ask him if he's okay but his sentences keep getting sliced up by bouts of laughter as Dan does a full body shake and tries not to itch himself all over. 

"I hate spiders," he says. 

"To be fair," Phil argues, "there wasn't _actually_ a spider, just a web. Also, they were there first." 

Phil has one hand on an empty, broken bookcase. His face is damp from perspiration where they've been clearing things out and his t-shirt is mapped to the curves of his waist in a rather pleasing way. Dan swallows. 

It's not on that Phil looks so good after shifting furniture for an hour an when Dan must look like a sweaty rat with breathing problems. On top of which he's just embarrassed himself by screaming like a child over a spider that wasn't even there. 

"I just hate them," he says. "They make me all..." 

He shivers again, rubbing at his arms. 

"You're scared," Phil chuckles. "Cute." 

"I'm not... they're disgusting." 

"Uh huh." 

Phil pushes at the bookcase lining it up against the wall. The room is almost cleared now. It'd been mostly junk, a few things they can use elsewhere, and a lot of stuff Nikolai is going to break down and re-purpose. It isn't painted and it needs a good dust, but there's space that they can set up a bed for Dan. 

They've made room for him, Phil has physically shifted their space around so that Dan can stay. He feels a sour bit of guilt churning up his stomach about it, like he should say something about how he might not been here for that much longer. 

But he can't, because that isn't how he does these things. The point is that no one knows otherwise, where's the story?

"Right, like you're not scared of anything, "Dan says, changing the subject. 

"I'm scared of some things," Phil says, wiping a hand across his forehead. He leaves a streak of dust in his wake that Dan wants to lean over and wipe away. 

"Like what?" 

Phil gets a bit of a pensive look on his face, as if evaluating what it is he wants to share. It's a bit of a loaded question, Dan thinks belatedly, that Phil could be scared of all manner of things. 

"Horses," Phil says, surprising him. 

"Horses?"

"Yep, I don't trust them. You never know what they're going to do with their legs." 

Dan laughs, and it feels good. His shoulders shake, the guilt in his stomach jostled by the way his abdomen flexes and he clutches at his own waist with crossed hands, doubling over a little. It's a full-body laugh, not that what Phil had said was particularly funny, it just feels good to laugh and dan lets it go, taking over him a bit. 

Phil joins in somewhere along the way and the newly-empty room is filled with the sound of their joined frivolity, like they had nothing to care about outside of this small bubbled moment. 

"Have you ever seen one?" Dan asks when they've calmed, wiping a tear from one eye with the back of his finger. 

"A Horse? Yeah." 

Dan gestures for him to continue and Phil lifts on elbow up on top of the bookcase, leaning in to it. 

"When we were little. Before... before our parents died. I was about eight, Martyn was ten. He wanted to go ride a horse for his birthday for some unknown reason so mum and dad took us along with some of Martyn's friends. I didn't like them on first sight, I cried the whole time. Probably ruined Martyn's birthday to be honest, and his friends thought I was proper annoying." 

"What are little brothers for, eh?" Dan says thinking of his own brother and how he hasn't seen him in the longest time. 

"I forgave me eventually." 

"You were close then?" 

"Yeah, mostly. I mean... we went through alot so that stuff kind of... bonds you." 

He looks contemplative, and a little sad. 

"Sorry," Dan says, "I shouldn't have--" 

"No," Phil says, "It's fine. It kind of... no one ever really asks about it. I think they're scared or something. So I don't really... you know, have anyone to... talk to." 

"You can... you can talk to me. If you want to." 

Phil just lifts the corners of his mouth a little bit but shakes his head. "I don't want to bore you." 

"You wouldn't," Dan insists. "I... I'm interested." 

Dan has to wonder when this whole thing started to turn this way. When he became more interested in Phil's story than his own. 

He'd told Gavin it was about Phil, hadn't he? That Phil was interesting, that the people here were the interesting thing. And that's true. 

But when he'd said that he's only interested because of the book, or because that's his usual process? Maybe not. 

It's usually about him. This whole thing has been able him pretending, hiding maybe, being someone else. It's about _his_ experiences in whatever situation he's put himself in that week. He rarely gets.... involved. 

That's the whole point, isn't it? To fake it for a little bit, see if it's possible to do something without getting involved. To be something, for a little bit, without having to commit.

He's never been good at commitment. Or in having any interest in things outside of himself.

This time though. This time he wants to know about Phil. _Everything_ about Phil. 

"Do you want to go go somewhere?" Phil asks. 

They've been doing this for a while and Dan is warm under his clothes, too warm. He knows the others must be back about now, rattling around downstairs. 

"Don't we need to do dinner?" 

He doesn't know why he says 'we'.

"Someone else will do it," Phil says. "Come on."

Dan follows him as Phil fetches his coat. He hands Dan's his jacket too, leading the way downstairs, fending off Nikolai who has questions and Isaac who looks deeply offended that when Phil won't stop. 

"We're just nipping out," Phil says to him. "We'll be back for dinner." 

"I really need to talk to you though," Isaac says, his eyes flicking over to Dan with a ruthless kind of disdain. 

"I promise," Phil says, patting Isaac's shoulder, "when I get back." 

Dan tries to look apologetic as he passes. He feels a bit guilty, like this is his fault for turning up and disrupting the delicate ecosystem that is The Dog and all its tentative relationships. 

When they're outside Phil looks up to the sky, shoving his hands in his pockets and exhaling a long stream of what sounds like built up tension. 

"You okay?" 

"Hm. Sometimes I just... it's a bit much." 

"I told you to take the afternoon off, Phil," Dan says with a smile. 

He turns off down the street. He doesn't know if Phil has a particular destination in mind but he doesn't correct him at all, simply follows behind him. Their shoulders bump. 

"I did. But honestly... the break just gave me time to think. I haven't had much of that up to now." 

Dan bites his lip and thinks about how he might have disrupted things more than he's originally thought. 

"What did you think about?" 

"The Dog," Phil says. "Martyn, myself, everyone. You." 

"Me?" 

Phil nods but he doesn't elaborate and Dan isn't brave enough to push it. Scared of what Phil might say. Maybe he's been thinking about how bad of an idea it was to invite Dan to stay, or ruminating on all the ways Dan has been cagey and secretive. 

"You're always thinking about everyone else," Dan says. 

"You give me too much credit." 

"Do I?" 

"Definitely." 

Dan put his hand in his own jacket pockets and realises that he has nothing with him. No wallet, no keys, no phone. It is both liberating and terrifying. Liberation but a complete loose end. 

Anything could happen to him out here. At least he has Phil. 

"You seem pretty deserving of the credit from where I'm standing, Phil." 

Phil shakes his head. "I'm not. Trust me. You don't--" 

He cuts himself off, eyebrows dipping to crease between his eyes like he's admonishing himself for something. 

"I don't what?" 

"You don't know the whole story. I'm not... I don't do all of this out of the good of my heart. I told you, I'm not that good of a person." 

"Then tell me," Dan says, "I want to know." 

He isn't angling for a story. This isn't what he'd been talking to Gavin about, all thoughts of the book and the blog and whatever else are nowhere to be found at this moment. All he cares about is that Phil is frowning and he wants him not to be frowning anymore. 

He wants to know Phil. For himself. It's just that simple. 

Phil hesitates for nearly a full minute. They're at the end of the street and once again Dan turns in an arbitrary direction and Phil follows him. They're heading towards the river maybe, Dan thinks. At least, that's where his feet at taking him. 

"It's all my fault," Phil says quietly. 

"What is?" 

"This... Martyn... our being out here." 

Dan stays silent. He doesn't often seek out peoples stories but he has learned how to listen to them when they are offered. 

He's usually trying to hide himself in their story, though. This time he isn't. 

"After our parents died we... there was a foster home. It was... well, it wasn't all bad. Not really. I mean it wasn't a happy family but they didn't... no one was horrible or anything, that's really important." 

"Okay, Phil. I get it." 

"I just... I was really angry," Phil says. "Like... at everything. And then Martyn turned eighteen and he was leaving and I was going to be all alone. I wasn't doing great at school and I had no idea what I wanted to be and I just... I begged him, Dan. To not leave me there." 

"That's... I mean. I can understand that." 

"No, you... Martyn is like, the best person. And I knew that, and I pushed it, and I knew he didn't have enough money to be like, my full time guardian but I made him do it. He tried, so so hard, but he... there wasn't any way to make it work." 

"That's not your--" 

"It is, Dan." Phil says. He sounds angry, insistent, like he has to make Dan believe he's the worst person ever, like the whole crappy world is his fault. "If I'd just held on for two years, if I hadn't made him..." 

He sniffs, and sighs. Dan doesn't look over to see if he's crying because he thinks he's probably entitled to some privacy, but he does lead them down another side street, in the direction of the river. 

The light is starting to drop on the horizon and the sky has a bit of an orange glow about it. Street lights aren't on yet but they will be soon and it could be peaceful, if Phil wasn't next to him, wound tight in on himself, waiting to unfurl.

"He's a musician," Phil says after a few minutes silence. "He's good, too. He could have been so much. But I was young and selfish and angry and I fucked everything up for him." 

Dan purses his lips for a second, wondering what he should and shouldn't say. But Phil is breathing a little heavy beside him and he can't stand it. He hates how twisted up he sounds, how raw and rough his voice is as he blames himself for the things the world has done to him. 

"Can I say something?" Dan asks. 

"It's not going to change anything." 

"Just... Listen." 

"Fine." 

Phil huffs out a breath and Dan bumps his shoulder against Phil's one more time just to see the corners of his mouth twitch. He can see the river now. They're still a far way off but it's there, the fading light glinting off the soft undulation of it. Dan keeps leading them towards it. 

"It isn't your fault. I know, I know, you're going to fight me and say that it is. What I have to say isn't just that, alright? But I needed to go on record as saying that I don't think it is your fault. At all." 

"What do you have to say then?" Phil asks, clearly choosing to ignore Dan entirely. 

"Even if it is your fault about Martyn, even if you being young and scared and angry about the shitty hand you'd been dealt in life... I think you need to look at the bigger picture." 

"What bigger picture?" 

"If you break it down into cheques and balances, Phil, you've more than made up for it. All those people at The Dog, Tash and Harlene and Toby and Niamh, Amir….Even Garrett and Nikolai, you've taken care of them, Phil." 

"That's what I mean though. I'm only doing it because... because it's my fault!" 

"It's your fault they're all there?" 

"No..." 

"You're helping them, Phil. They're working towards a better future, and you've given them a better way to do it." Dan stops then, pulling them up short before they reach the river. "It's not your fault they're there, it's not your fault Martyn is where he is, you're just… you're doing the best you can."

"We all are," Phil says. 

Dan thinks about how he ended up here, about his entirely selfish motivations for ending up sleeping under a bridge. He thinks of his warm bed and his expensive sheets, of the book he has to write and the fancy laptop he'll do it on, plugged in to his own wall socket. It's all just waiting for him to step back into, he can rejoin his life at any moment he pleases. 

But this is Phil's life. 

"Some of us more than others," Dan says, quietly. 

Phil is quiet for a moment. A light breeze ruffled his hair across his forehead and he's got his hands shoved back in the pockets if his coat. He looks tired around his eyes, light creases in the corners of them where he squints against the dipping sun. Dan wishes he could whisk him back to that relative luxury, cocoon him in his flat and let him rest, give him some breathing space. 

But Dan is not a white knight, and Phil doesn't need saving. What he needs is support and reassurance, he needs someone to roll up their sleeves and get stuck in. Dan resolves that he'll do just that. At least, for the time that he's here. 

He'll have to tell him eventually. He's not exactly looking forward to it but he knows now that he can't just slink off into the distance the way he usually does. He's... Involved, despite himself. 

"I think you should go an see Martyn," Dan blurts out. 

"I told you--" 

"Oh screw the money, Phil. I mean… it'll be okay. I think… you need to see him. It's alright me telling you it's not your fault but I don't think you'll believe it unless you hear it from him."

"I'll… think about it," Phil says. 

Dan lets it go. It's as much as he's going to get Phil to agree to tonight.

"We can go back," Phil says after another minute of staring at the horizon, his face still contemplative. "We've got dinner and your room to set up yet." 

"We can do it together, yeah?" Dan says. 

Phil offers him a small smile, and it looks more and more genuine by the second. 

"Together," he says, "I like the sound of that." 

And Dan does too.


End file.
